


The Sparkle That Stings

by gloss



Category: Happy Endings (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash12, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <cite><del>Penny has a change of Hartz.</del> Maybe she's always been a little in love with Alex.</cite>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sparkle That Stings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [k (sandyk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyk/gifts).



> Thanks so much to G. and Aphrodite-Mine for handholding and brainstorming. Title from Spinanes, "[Epiphany](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUMFV-Y7Ux8)".

In the midst of a Chicago blizzard, the entire city laden with silvery light and gone silent, Penelope Chaka Hartz wakes up gay.

Well, almost. She wakes up with Alex draped over her, face buried in Penny's breasts, her hand halfway up Alex's shirt (for warmth!), Alex's leg hooked over hers.

She is hungover -- crashingly so, skull-throbbingly, mouth-desertificatedly, stomach-roilingly so -- and there's a $399 cashmere throw bunched up around her neck and adhering to her lower lip. Her neck has a huge crick in one side and her lower back is cramping up weirdly.

She also has to pee. _Now_.

And yet when Alex snorts in her sleep like a baby warthog and snuggles closer, Penny goes with it. She rubs Alex's back in slow circles and watches the snow pile up outside the shop.

*

She came over Saturday afternoon to check on Alex. Dave has been away for over a week at some Gathering of the Food Trucks down in Missouri -- "Like the Burning Man of grilled cheese," he'd said, "the Woodstock of applewood-smoked ham wraps." -- and Penny has learned from both rom-coms and Discovery documentaries that bonded pairs, when separated, tend to suffer.

Alex seemed fine, however, jabbing away at her keyboard and humming a medley of Bond themes. "Here to help with inventory?"

Penny stopped stock still, hands on her scarf. "What's that now?"

"Inventory!" When Alex stood up, a huge accounting ledger slipped off her lap and crashed to the floor. "It's the most wonderful time of year."

"Um." Penny's mind failed her. Not a single excuse suggested itself. "Hey, watch your ledger!"

Alex bounced up and down on it. "No worries. I keep a couple different sets of books."

"That can't be legal." Realizing she was stuck here for the time being, Penny gave in, untying her scarf and sliding off her coat.

"If it's not, how come QuickBooks lets me have like seven different passwords?"

"You are filing returns, though, right? Honey?" Penny didn't want to make a stink about this -- if she got up in arms about every weird little thing Alex believed and did, she'd be more stressed than Hillary Clinton and have the frizz to match. She made a mental note, however, to have Jane look into things; Penny had never been the sensible one. She wouldn't know where to start.

"Relax!" Alex turned on her megawatt smile and hugged Penny with one arm in passing. "That one's my daydream book, where everybody loves what I sell and sometimes I even break even. It's not, like. _Real_ or anything."

"I feel so much better," Penny said, but Alex was already moving on, rooting around under the counter.

She tossed Penny a duster and pointed to the far corner. "Can you start with the feather boas? Dust 'em and count 'em."

Dusting a boa was a lot harder than you'd think. Counting started to get tricky, too, once Alex dragged out a crate of white wine.

"I have the coolest thing!" She actually slapped her cheek as she remembered whatever it was, then pushed her glass at Penny so she could go look for it.

Penny shrugged and started alternating sips.

"Check this out!" Alex tossed her a small envelope and Penny was buzzed enough to try to catch it without letting go of either wine glass.

Laughing, she set both down on the floor when she bent over to pick up the envelope. "What is this?"

"DIY champagne mix! I met this French guy who has all these connections in the champagne industry, very hush-hush, and guess what? This is all you need! Crafty, homemade, and low carbon footprint."

Penny opened the envelope with her thumbnail. Inside was smaller packet of baker's yeast. "Uh."

Alex leaned in. "Did you know that yeast comes from the Sanskrit yas, 'to seethe or boil'?"

"Huh," Penny said. "Wikipedia?"

"You know it!" Alex fistbumped her before grabbing the yeast. "So. Wanna try it?"

They'd asked each other that very same question God knows how many times over the years. From French kissing to Mr. Kerkovich's Canadian Club; skinny-dipping to weed that was more basil and oregano than anything remotely THC-infused; prom-night limo threesome and undergrad hookey-playing.

This was how some of Penny's best memories started, with Alex leaning close and sounding excitedly hushed, looking wide-eyed and breathless.

This was how they ended up finishing the inventory in record time, ordering butternut-squash pizza, and dancing to Monie Love's "It's A Shame" until the power cut off. Only then did they notice that the snow had been falling fast and furious for who knows how long.

"Camp out!" Alex shouted, spinning Penny like a bolt of cloth, wrapping her in a cashmere throw.

Penny stumbled back, knocking into Alex. The wall pushed them back and Penny tried to catch her breath, but for a second there, the snow seemed to be falling upward and Alex was either dipping her or pulling her down. Her face floated before Penny's, eyes shining in the dark. The blanket tangled up her legs and yanked her down; Penny whooped and flailed. Alex fell with her.

The moment blossomed, widening, hushed, negative space filling up, with quiet and expectation and hope. Penny could hear her own breathing, rattling, and feel the damp heat of Alex's breath on her chin.

"No, God, I _can't_ \--" Alex said and pulled away and it was torn apart and Penny felt the kind of outrush of anxiety that wasn't relief but the release of fear.

They passed out there, rolled back up against each other, stiff and cold on the floor, very carefully Not Speaking.

*

So here they are now, hungover and clinging to each other. Alex's phone died during the dance party and Penny can't remember where hers got to. With the power still off, they might as well as be alone in the world.

Penny's scrubbing her finger over her teeth in the tiny washroom when there's a crash and weird, deep _collapsing_ noise out in the front of the store.

"We came as soon as we heard!" Jane stands knee-deep in the snow filling the open doorway. Max and Brad are behind her, bent double like sherpas beneath tarp-wrapped bundles, heaving and wheezing. "And we brought brunch!"

She'd loaded them up with brunch food and serving implements, then set out across the snowed-in city, and she looks like she could do it again, several times. Her eyes glitter with success, her cheeks burn with pride, and Penny thinks that she's rarely looked more glorious.

"Heard what?" Alex asks, head popping through the neck of a fresh sweater. She tries to blow the hair out of her eyes, but it just puffs out, then falls back. "What?"

"Poor puppy," Max says and pats her awkwardly on the head with his enormous mittened paw. "Living in adorable denial."

"Guys?" Penny asks. "What's going on?"

It takes a while to sort everything out. First they have to recharge Alex's phone with Jane's handy solar/handpump charger, then bring up the various relevant social media links. And Jane insists on getting the chafing dishes set up and warming.

Alex stares, open mouthed, at her phone. "Dave broke up with me."

"We know," Brad says, not unkindly.

"We do," Jane agrees.

"In a text!"

Penny winces. She's gotten a brext or eight, but not from a live-in, serious boyfriend. (She wishes. [Or she doesn't.])

"What you really want to see are the social media announcements," Max puts in. "There's a banner ad that's the ugliest thing since Angelfire."

"In a text."

"A brext," Penny whispers. She can't help herself. "It's called a brext."

Alex squinches up her face. "Why would it be a breast?"

Speaking of breasts -- and Penny hates herself for this, a little -- Alex looks beautiful in the black turtleneck sweater she has layered over three other shirts. Anyone else, especially Penny, would look like a lumpy, disconsolate snowman, but Alex just looks rounded-off and lovely.

Damn it.

Alex is crying, like something just let go and she has yet to notice; her cheeks are bright with tears and the tip of her nose is bright pink. Jane gets her settled on the couch, wrapped up in another blanket, with a giant travel mug of hot chocolate.

"Can I read the Facebook message?" Max asks. "Please?"

"You're not on Facebook," Penny says. She feels like she's full-body fidgeting; she wants to hug Alex, but she also wants to pace the room and punch things, but also lie down and hibernate until the world makes more sense again.

"I have a secret account," Max says stoutly.

"I'll read it," Brad says. "I have a nicer voice."

"Yeah, you do," Jane says and Max starts to protest before shrugging and agreeing.

"Okay, so here goes." Brad clears his throat and inhales deeply. "But first, I just want to disavow any responsibility for the amazingly bad puns, okay? I mean, seriously, try a little harder."

Jane starts to bristle. They all see it. Brad nods quickly and takes another deep breath. When he reads, he sounds both petulant and outraged.

"Heya, foodlovers and loverlovers! What goes together like Skynyrd and Eddie Money? Like steak and potatoes? That's right, foodies and classic rock lovers alike, rejoice with us as we announce the union -- professional and personal, culinary and erotic -- of two of Chicago's best-loved food trucks. Steak Me Home Tonight and Fritesbird, Dave Rose and Ginnifer Wexley --"

"Ginnifer?" Jane blows a raspberry. "No one's actually named Ginnifer."

"What's a fritesbird?" Alex asks, her voice hoarse and soft.

"Oh my god, frites are the bomb! We had them, remember, the fries in the paper cone with the mayo?" Penny stanches her enthusiasm way too late. "Sorry, no, they're disgusting. Who'd double deep fry potato slivers? Harlots, that's who."

"He put that on Facebook?" Alex asks. "Why?"

"Because it's a culinary and erotic union," Jane says bitterly.

"Not just Facebook," Max says. "Twitter! Pinterest! Tumblr! Possibly even Friendster and MySpace, because, just like his hair and taste in music, Dave is comically behind the times."

"Also," Brad says, checking his phone, "LinkedIn, Reddit, and MetaFilter."

"It's even all over Hoagie," Max says.

"And that would be what?" Brad asks.

Max holds up his ancient, not-all-that-smart phone. "Hoagie! Only the leading app for finding sandwiches and cruising hot homos in your local area."

Alex perks up momentarily. "Sandwiches?"

Max pats her head. "In all fairness, it was a shitty sandwich app that the gays took over."

"Isn't that always the way?" Penny asks.

"Where're the sandwiches?" Alex looks around. As she realizes there are no sandwiches, her face falls and she slumps back, slurping her hot chocolate. Jane rushes to make her an English muffin with fior di latte and prosciutto.

Penny has two of those and some homefries, before Max scarfs them all up. They're all eating, either meditatively (Brad) or restlessly (Alex), appreciatively (Jane) or disgustingly (Max), for a nice long stretch of silence. For once, Penny doesn't want it to end. She's tucked against Alex on the couch, the two of them wedged in, with Jane perched on the far arm, and it's just simple and nice.

But eventually they run out of food.

"Yeah, I'd have to say Dave wins," Brad says, clearing the plates. "He wins _everything_."

Jane turns on him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Yeah," Penny puts in. Her face is hot and she realizes she's clutching at Alex and can't seem to let go. "What the hell, Brad?"

Brad leans back out of reach. "Oh, sorry, my bad. I thought Dave and Alex must be playing some high-stakes, long-ass-term game of douching each other over." He points at Alex. "Left him at the altar. Can't top that!" He goes serious, brow furrowed and mouth downturned. When he speaks, his tone is grave. _"Or can you?_ Late-starter David Wendell Rose! Takes her back, moves her in, makes kissyface to end all kissyface, only to break up via text message like some fourteen year old tool."

Penny squints at him. "Are you actually upset about this?"

"Yeah, dude, it's hard to tell," Max says.

Shaking his head, Brad raises his hands. "Just a fan of common decency and basic human kindness, that's all."

Penny catches Jane's eye. "So that means...?"

"I'm still lost," Max says agreeably.

Jane's pursing her lips as she works it out. "He's upset."

Alex blows her nose, the noise honking and moist. "I shouldn't be sad. Why am I sad? I deserve this."

"No!" they all say, at various levels of conviction.

"Nobody deserves this," Penny says more loudly. She rubs her palm briskly up and down Alex's upper arm. "And especially not you."

Max looks up from where he's swiping a crust of bread around the edges of a chafing dish. "Guys, this is weird."

"Yeah, Max," Penny says, failing to keep the impatience out of her voice. "It is weird. And awful. And horrible."

"No, I mean --. Why are we being so nice to Alex? Last time, we weren't exactly helping Dave with his baby steps."

Jane glares at him, hugging Alex even more tightly.

"Well, she's so little," Brad says.

"And super-cute," Penny says.

"And my _sister_ ," Jane says.

Max nods, considering all the responses. "Yeah, that makes sense. Also, it's not like she's going to move in with me." He rounds on her. "You're not, are you?"

Alex shakes her head.

He sighs loudly. "Good. I mean, unless you want to? And can cover three-quarters to nine-tenths of the rent. Then, welcome home, roomie!"

Penny straightens up and says loudly, "She'll live with me."

Alex turns to look at her. She looks awful -- red-rimmed eyes, hangover-mussed hair, swollen lips and wan cheeks -- but kind of beautiful, too. Her weak little smile is heartbreaking.

Penny smiles back at her. She starts getting that... _feeling_ again.

Luckily, Max crashes through the moment in his adorable, blundering way. "Okay, that's settled. Can we make fun of Dave's girlfriend now? Because I've got about a thousand things to say."

*

Living with Alex again feels right. They coexist well; their taste in terrible 90s hiphop matches just as well as their preferences for onion bagels and cheese.

Alex is fragile, though, and Penny's starting to feel like a mama bear, fiercely protective and ever vigilant.

Someone else's mama, though, because she can't help but also admire Alex's body and face and other un-maternal things.

Alex droops in the doorway. Shoulders slumped, hair in her eyes, she has her arms loosely crossed like she's lackadaisically holding in her guts. "Penny?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sad."

"I know, honey." Penny pats the couch cushion beside her. "Wanna cuddle?"

"Yeah." Alex manages to drag herself across the room and collapse against Penny. Her head on Penny's shoulder, body curled up, she's a warm pressure against Penny's side, fragrant with Vaseline Intensive Care and something like tea roses. Penny snakes her arm around Alex's back, playing with her soft, light hair.

When they were kids, Penny frequently caught herself thinking of the Kerkovich sisters as the two poles of being good at being a girl. Penny herself was loud and poor and chunky and she developed early and wasn't exactly any good at being anything other than all those things. But the Kerkoviches were successes.

Jane was tall and elegant and brainy and everyone was scared of her.

Penny knew, however, that she'd never have the brains, let alone the thoroughbred-delicate bones, to capture half of Jane's success.

Alex was tiny and cute and everyone wanted to cuddle her. Sullen thirteen year old guys made room for her on their filthy sleeping bags at outdoor concerts; moms gave her extra cookies and dads dispensed unsolicited advice; other girls adopted her as their little sister and braided her hair at lunch. Her first serious boyfriend _proposed_ to her with a pretty great ring. Come _on_.

Everything came so easy to her (except homework, but even then, no one pushed her: teachers waved it off, geeks offered to do it for her).

Penny spent more time than she'll ever cop to being jealous. You don't think like that, not if you're a good friend.

So it's only now, with Alex wan and sleepy against her, that Penny starts to understand something.

She wasn't jealous of Alex. Maybe she was jealous of everybody close to Alex.

Maybe she's crazy.

She needs to talk to Max.

*

Talking to Max is a terrible idea. He has more jokes about lesbians and U-Hauls and flannel shirts, Olivia cruises and Sleater-Kinney bootlegs than anyone ever dreamed.

"I do want a cat," Penny says, crossing her arms. "Just one, as a family thing. We'll name him Tyler."

"You are so gone," Max tells her. She's never seen him smile this widely, for this long, even the President's Day they dropped acid and ate seven pounds of M&Ms. "This is amazing! I kind of thought once we hit our thirties, chances to make fun of terrible life decisions would drop off."

"You think this is a terrible life decision?" Penny isn't sure if that's a good sign or not. Max's opinion on things is like permanent opposite day.

His face softens. Slightly. "Seducing your best friend? Generally a terrible life decision."

"It worked with you," she points out.

He cocks his head and squints. "Did it, though?"

"Point." She can't help scowling. She wants to cry, a little. Whine, a lot. "Maaaaaax. Be nice to me."

He glances up from the pizza box. "Fine. You can have another slice, even though that cuts into my minimum daily intake of seven."

"I don't want your pizza," she mutters. He starts to pull the box away, but she manages to snag her slice. "But I'll take it."

She munches for a bit while Max drags out Brad's cast-off blender to make chocolate milkshake.

"Come to think of it, this might just work," he says when he's drained half his shake. "I mean, other than his junk, Dave is kind of the world's biggest lesbian. And Alex liked him, right?"

"He does listen to an awful lot of Indigo Girls," Penny replies.

"Plus his hair!" Max nearly snarfs his last sip. "What is _that_?"

Penny shifts in her seat. It doesn't feel right, making fun of Dave when she's contemplating macking on his -- well, his double-ex. The one _he_ brexted.

Still, it's not right.

Maybe just once. "I'm probably better in bed, too," she says.

Max claps his hands. "Erotic Japanese body pillows are better in bed!"

She's so wired these days, when she starts to laugh, she almost hyperventilates and it takes forever to calm down. Max pats her awkwardly on the back and offers her water, then gives up and tucks into more pizza.

She tries to slow her breathing and, eventually and painfully, she can see clearly again and her head stops feeling like it's going to tear free and zoom into the stratosphere.

"You okay?" Max sounds uncomfortable. She doesn't blame him.

"I did a little math the other day," she tells him. "Three kids and a lakeview townhouse by the time I'm 35? I'd have to meet a guy in the next fifteen weeks, get married, then conceive _triplets_."

Max rolls his eyes, then tries -- she can see the effort -- to be supportive. "Sounds fun?"

"I'm a female warrior, Max," she says, drawing herself up. "I'm not beholden to the calendar or the fertility cycle."

"...okay?"

Penny sees the truth: suddenly, thoroughly, _vibrantly_. "I'm Katniss Everdeen, and she's my Bella."

With his pizza crust, Max stabs her arm. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Uh, excuse me, I think it does." She takes a deep breath and reminds herself to be patient; Max can be something of a dense weave. "Two archetypes of feminine empowerment, battling convention and patriarchy and, and, um, social sadism --"

Max's lips are moving, like a kid just learning to read. "What I'm getting from this is that you want to bite Alex?"

She shoves him, not hard enough to topple him (Max is nothing if not bottom-heavy), but enough to make her point. "Katniss is the archer. I want to _pierce_ her, Max, with the arrows of my --" She bites her lip. The words sound way grosser than the image in her mind. "I'll just stop there."

Max screws up his face and sticks out his tongue. "Girls are so gross, _God_."

She pats his hand before pulling his arm around her shoulders and snuggling in. "You have no idea."

"So, in great Hartz tradition, how're you going to turn into Alex 2.0? Make woodland friends? Hire a cactus as your intern?"

She shoves him. "Not gonna happen."

"We shall see," he says. "We shall see."

*

They head down to Rosalita's when Max runs out of liqueurs to add to the milkshakes. Sure, it's the dead of winter, but Penny orders a pitcher of sangria. To celebrate and to _inspire_.

"So here's what I'm going to do," she says when all that's left in the pitcher are two sodden slices of orange. "Candles. Lots of candles. And fondue."

"Yum!" Max nods excitedly. "I can't wait."

"Dummy," she says. "For Alex."

"But..." He's crestfallen. In a tiny, wounded voice, he says, "fondue?"

"Fondue! And to dip in the fondue? Wedges of grilled cheese sandwich."

Max stares at her. She doesn't know if he's astonished or revolted. His blue eyes keep widening.

"You," he says, "you. Are. Perfect."

"Alex likes cheese," Penny says, smugly, grinning. "And then there's going to be a whole open my heart, lay my cards on the table, just _go for it_ over the top confession. It has to work."

Max is quiet for a long time -- a long time for any normal person, an eon and a half for Max.

She scrunches up her nose and tries not to tug at her shirt cuffs. "Stupid? Too Heigl?"

He shakes his head, slowly and thoughtfully. "No."

"Oh, god. Not Heigl enough?"

"Penny." Suddenly he's on his feet, grasping her shoulders. "You're better than this."

Stupid, awful, crawling, prickling doubt kicks into full-blown worry. That's always been the danger, after all. If she doesn't act fast enough to get out in front of realistic doubt, she's screwed. "I shouldn't do it."

Max's somber expression is not helping matters.

Finally, he says, "Penny. You're better than Heigl could ever, ever be."

Her balance wavers, just for a moment. "I -- I am?"

He nods. "You are. And your harebrained romantic shenanigans deserve only the very, very best."

Her mouth is dry; it's hard to swallow. "Like...Witherspoon-best?"

"I could slap you for that," he says viciously, shaking her until her teeth clack together. "No. _Think_ , damn it. Dare to _believe_."

"Au--Audrey Hepburn?"

He stops shaking her, but for a second or two, she still feels like she's moving. "Close, but we both know you're way too much woman --" He sketches out a busty hourglass shape, just in case she didn't get it. "-- for her scrawny Eurotrash schtick."

She licks her lips. "Not Zellwegger?"

"That's it." Max lets her go and stalks backward, hands up in surrender, about to knock into the pool table. "I'm out."

"Max, no!" She reaches for him. "I'm sorry. Come back."

He thinks it over, literally weighing the invisible options in his cupped palms.

"Lucille Ball-Arnaz?" she tries. She's about to name Carol Burnett, but she's all com, no rom.

He shakes his head and clucks his tongue in disappointment.

"Myrna Loy?" she tries.

"Who's that, my middle-school librarian slash speech therapist?"

"You had a speech therapist?"

"I never lisped!" Max waves his arms. "Back to your thing. What's your thing?"

She sinks into the booth, tips back her head and closes her eyes. "Romancing the Kerkovich, Penny-style."

"Ohhhh, right." Max drops onto her lap, driving most of the air out of her lungs in an unbecoming wheeze. "I say go for it. And save me some fondue."

She wraps her arms around him and squeezes.

"Don't get mushy," he adds.

"Never," she replies.

"I will cut you."

"I know."

*

Penny has had worse sex. She's hard-pressed to remember specifics, but, statistically, she must have had much worse.

She's just so nervous, and Alex is beautiful and giggly and _nothing fits_. She knows she's going to screw this up, so, of course, she freezes and ends up...screwing up.

Smooth moves, Hartz.

She rolls onto her back and drops her arm over her eyes. "Well, that sook-ed."

Alex pokes her tummy. "Not quite enough sook-ing, if you ask me."

Penny groans. "I cramped up! Everything's different down there! And, anyway, even compared to the shortest guy I've ever been with --"

"Who, Max?"

She laughs. "That'd be awesome. No, Dirk Rebagliati --"

"Like the snowboarder?" Alex sits up, leaning back on one arm, head tilted. Penny wants to touch her; she's so close, her skin's so soft, there are curves and planes everywhere.

But Penny is big and klutzy and this was never going to work.

"What? Snowboarder, like Shaun White?"

"No. Wait, you slept with Shaun White? Was he super-flexible? Did the shoes match his belt, if you know what I mean?" Alex waggles her brows; she's trying to sound lecherous, but Penny just thinks it's cute.

"Carpet matches the drapes," Penny says.

"No, I was reading Fantastic Man at work, and --"

"Alex, Alex, Alex." Penny pulls her back down, hugging her tightly. It's easy to touch her when she doesn't think about it. "We're in a banter spiral. Only we can stop the madness."

"Nuh-uh," Alex says, muffled against Penny's collarbone.

"Uh-huh, baby girl."

"Nuh-uh times infinity!" Alex struggles to lift her head. "I suck at banter. Sorry, I mean I _sook_ at it."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. I get really lost and my head starts to pound so I end up just free-associating whenever there's a pause in the conversation."

Penny strokes Alex's hair, then lets her hand slip down her neck. "That's what we all do."

Alex snorts. "No way."

"Way."

"No way."

"Way -- c'mon, you don't sook at it." Penny massages Alex's shoulder; it's about as tense as Penny feels.

"I do! I sook at lots of stuff. Staying in a committed relationship. Driving. Parking. Backseat driving. Basic customer service. Hot girl on girl lovemaking and erotic exploration --"

"Your customer service is just fine." Penny slides her palm down the length of Alex's arm, then back up.

"Thanks," Alex says, automatically and absently. After a moment, she frowns. "Hey --"

Before she can think, Penny pushes herself up on her elbow and kisses Alex again. There's nothing between them -- no fondue pot to tip over, no beer to choke on and spray, no expectations to fail -- and the kiss is soft and shallow and gentle.

Alex sighs against Penny's mouth, then kisses a little harder.

"And you can always practice driving," Penny adds. "Not in my new car, though."

Alex's smile looks dim and shy and somehow perfect. Penny kisses her again and it's even easier.


End file.
